Chapter 667: The Death of Brotherhood (Patreon)

Two years later.

Gazing at the Artifact he had meticulously crafted, Urza couldn't hide the joy on his face. He couldn't help but think to himself:

'I am a fucking genius!'

Indeed, in just two years, he had successfully made massive strides in the Artificer profession. Besides his own innate talent, the Mightstone in his possession had played a crucial role, multiplying his learning efficiency many times over!

Thinking of the benefits the Mightstone brought him, his heart burned with passion, instinctively filling his mind with dreams of a beautiful future.

But soon, as a specific thought crossed his mind, Urza's eyes revealed a hint of helplessness.

This was because his younger brother, Mishra, had subtly changed his attitude toward him recently. The root cause was precisely the Mightstone in his hand.

Just like Urza, Mishra was a genius-level Artificer. This was both a blessing and a curse. It gave both of them an undeniable reason to never give up their respective relics. However, the Mightstone and the Weakstone could only unleash their maximum potential when held by the same person...

And neither Urza nor Mishra—who had both grown to love the Artificer profession and saw it as their ultimate life's calling—were willing to surrender their future destinies.

Therefore, faced with these two sacred relics, the once unbreakable bond of brotherhood began to fracture. Although they were far from fratricide at the moment, the seeds of conflict had undoubtedly been sown. And this resentment was only growing as time went on...

It was only now that Urza understood why there were so many folktales about blood relatives killing each other over profit. He realized that the only way this could end peacefully was if one of them chose to back down.

But as he delved deeper into the creation of Artifacts and Artifact Creatures, he felt as though he had entered a boundless ocean of knowledge, experiencing an unprecedented sense of satisfaction. That feeling of constantly moving forward on the path of discovery, of continually comprehending new truths, intoxicated him to his core.

It was as if a seeker of knowledge had touched the fundamental laws of the universe! It was the kind of ultimate truth one would gladly die for having witnessed it just once. It was a spiritual fulfillment that transcended the flesh, capable of mesmerizing anyone!

Because of this, Urza could never willingly hand over the Mightstone! Even if the one blocking his path was his own brother...

And Urza firmly believed that Mishra, equally intoxicated by the world's truths, felt exactly the same way.

Thus, in this highly tense atmosphere, time marched on. Their teacher, Tocasia, gradually noticed their growing antagonism in daily life. Unaware of the true cause, she tried to mediate using conventional methods, but her efforts yielded minimal results. She could only watch helplessly as the situation escalated.

One day.

BOOM!

A massive explosion echoed through the camp.

"Teacher!"

Looking at their mentor, who had died accidentally in the crossfire of their dispute, Urza's expression became unprecedentedly vicious. For the first time, the thought of killing Mishra sprouted in his heart!

Mishra, who similarly blamed his brother for the tragedy, felt the exact same way.

Thus, their conflict officially reached a boiling point. But with their technical skills being roughly equal, there was no clear victor. They had no choice but to temporarily call a truce to handle their teacher's funeral arrangements.

Two days later. After burying Tocasia, the battered and bruised brothers officially parted ways...

Urza left the desert, traveling to foreign lands, while Mishra remained behind. Yet, in a dark, unspoken mutual understanding, both began to secretly build up their own factions, laying the groundwork for their inevitable next war.

Several years later.

The Desert — The Fallaji Region.

Mishra was hiding in his secret base, studying day and night. With every moment of research, he felt millions of brilliant sparks of civilization flashing within his mind. The feeling was immensely satisfying.

Suddenly, his movements froze.

With a hint of suspicion, he looked over his shoulder. A figure, who had entered the base without him noticing, appeared in his line of sight. Instantly, fueled by Mishra's mana, the numerous Artifacts behind him began to glow, automatically entering an active, combat-ready state.

Unsurprised that he was detected, and completely ignoring the Artifacts primed to attack, Yawgmoth—who had been wandering Dominaria for years—looked at Mishra with an amused expression. He spoke casually:

"I had originally just heard there was a capable junior out here. I didn't expect the Weakstone to be in your possession. It seems you've put its power to good use."

Hearing this, a drop of cold sweat slid down Mishra's face, driven by an instinctual sense of sheer terror. He felt an immense, suffocating pressure...

The reason was twofold: not only had this stranger seen through his ultimate trump card at a single glance, but through the Weakstone's resonance, Mishra could vaguely sense that the man before him—despite looking human—was internally something completely alien, a being composed of infinite malice.

"Who are you? Or rather, what are you?"

While stalling with questions, Mishra slowly backed away, preparing to trigger a hidden fail-safe mechanism a short distance away to make a quick escape.

Ignoring his movements, Yawgmoth replied casually, "How rude. As the God of Phyrexia, I should sentence you to death immediately. But seeing as you are a capable junior, I'll waive the death penalty. Just know... the living punishment will be much harder to escape..."

"Well, thank you for that."

After replying with a fake, stiff smile, Mishra's hand successfully brushed his fail-safe. He breathed a slight sigh of relief.

Just as he was debating whether to test the intruder with a few more words, a sudden, piercing agony shot through his abdomen.

The thing attacking him... was an Artifact he had crafted with his own two hands.

In the next moment, under Mishra's disbelieving gaze, several other Artifacts moved in a blur, cleanly severing his arms and legs. Amidst screams of despair, Mishra collapsed into a pool of his own blood, his face frozen in sheer horror.

Surrounded by the traitorous Artifacts, Yawgmoth looked down at Mishra, who could now only writhe and struggle on the ground like a severed worm. A cruel smile touched Yawgmoth's lips as he slowly stepped forward.

"No need to thank me. Seeing as you are a man of talent, I will make sure you successfully fulfill your purpose..."